


Sectional Rivalry

by megastarstrike



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Musicians, Alternate Universe - Non-Despair (Dangan Ronpa), Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Gratuitous Trumpet Jokes and Song References, M/M, mention of kaimaki, trumpet!saihara, violinist!ouma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-23 08:09:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14328234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megastarstrike/pseuds/megastarstrike
Summary: Shuuichi wasn’t an angry person. He felt the occasional twinge of frustration like any other person, but the red, hot flames of rage rarely ever consumed him like how trumpets were stereotyped to be. In fact, he could accurately say that he was the exact opposite of a trumpet stereotype: not prideful and not angry.But he’d be damned if the high-pitched squeaks of the violinist next door didn’t tempt Shuuichi into climbing out of bed and getting up to throw his neighbor’s instrument out the window.





	Sectional Rivalry

**Author's Note:**

> huge thanks for Pastelbandana for being my trumpet reference for this bc fuck i didnt know what i was doing. this bitch literally made a trumpet reference doc for me thanks so so much for your help

Shuuichi wasn’t an angry person. He felt the occasional twinge of frustration like any other person, but the red, hot flames of rage rarely ever consumed him like how trumpets were stereotyped to be. In fact, he could accurately say that he was the exact opposite of a trumpet stereotype: not prideful and not angry.

But he’d be damned if the high-pitched squeaks of the violinist next door didn’t tempt Shuuichi into climbing out of bed and getting up to throw his neighbor’s instrument out the window.

Shuuichi sat up and grabbed his phone off the drawer next to him, sending a text to his friend.  _ Maki, there’s this violinist playing Flight of the Bumblebee next to me. Send help, I just want to sleep. _

Maki’s response came in an instant.  _ Not my problem. Text the landlord.  _ And with that, she went offline.

Shuuichi took a moment to reconsider his choice of friends.

But the landlord was his also his friend and another string player. Maybe she would understand.

Shuuichi sent another text.  _ Hey, Kirumi, sorry to bother you, but can you do something about the violinist next door? He’s playing Flight of the Bumblebee at 3 in the morning. _

Kirumi’s response was immediate.  _ My apologies, but noise complaints can only be filed by people outside the building. This is an apartment designed for musicians, after all. Would you like me to move you into another room for the night? _

Shuuichi sighed but sent back a no and thank you text to her anyway. She was right; the apartment complex was made for musicians, by musicians. He had been caught panic-practicing an excerpt he had forgotten to practice more times than he would like to admit. Maybe his neighbor was caught under the same circumstances. And it wasn’t as if he was bothering anyone other than Shuuichi; they were on the tenth floor, and the ninth floor was empty after a traveling band moved out. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder what kind of orchestra had  _ Flight of the Bumblebee _ as an audition excerpt. And why didn’t his neighbor put on a mute? He knew for a fact violins had a mute just like trumpets did.

He decided to give his neighbor the benefit of the doubt and put his phone back on top of the drawer. He pulled the blankets over himself, trying not to cringe at the squeaks.

 

*

 

In the few days his asshole neighbor didn’t quit practicing at odd hours of the night, Shuuichi became familiar with the tone and style his neighbor possessed. It wasn’t as if it was bad; it was probably among the best he had ever heard. He just wished his neighbor wasn’t such an asshole about it.

Shuuichi rubbed his eyes as he carried a mug of coffee and his trumpet to the lobby of the apartment. He smiled upon seeing a familiar face. “Hey, Kaito. You have a concert today, right?”

Kaito whipped around to him and waved. “Mornin’, Shuuichi. And yeah, me and the other trombones are playing for this charity event.” His smile faded. “You don’t look too good. Are you getting enough sleep?”

“No,” Shuuichi groaned, “My neighbor keeps playing violin at night and always wakes me up.”

“Did you tell the landlord about it?”

“Yes, but only outsiders can file noise complaints.” 

Kaito paused to think before slamming his fists together. “I’ve got it! You just gotta show your dominance, and the guy’ll back off!”

“Um… how would I do that?”

“Easy. Play trumpet as loud as you can. Brasses always cover up those weak strings and winds.”

Another voice entered the conversation. “Do you want to die?”

Kaito jumped at the voice, all signs of pride being wiped off his face. “Oh, uh, Maki. Don’t worry, bassoons are totally stronger than us. Didn’t—Didn’t mean to generalize all winds.”

“That’s what I thought. Good morning, Shuuichi.”

Shuuichi muttered a greeting while Kaito gawked.

“Really? You say hi to Shuuichi but not me? Come on, we’re all friends.”

Maki turned away from him to greet another person, a ghost of a smirk on her face. “Good morning, Kaede.”

Kaede blinked but smiled and waved as she walked past them.

Shuuichi sipped his coffee while Kaito and Maki entered another squabble.

While Kaito’s statement about brasses being louder than strings and winds could have been better phrased, it was true. He could easily overpower a violin with a trumpet. Aggression probably wasn’t the best route to take, but in his sleep-deprived state, Kaito’s idea didn’t seem so bad.

 

*

 

The next night, the all-too-familiar sounds of the violin penetrated the walls again. Shuuichi could vaguely recognize the time as a Mozart concerto, but he was too tired to care. Nothing would stop him from fighting for his sleep.

So Shuuichi assembled his trumpet, took a deep breath, and played concert A as loudly as he could.

The sounds of the violin were muted under his trumpet, but when Shuuichi paused to take another breath, the violin’s open A could clearly be heard.

Anger boiled in Shuuichi’s gut, but he reined it back with a deep breath.  _ This isn’t worth fighting for, Shuuichi. You can get used to it or ask Kirumi for another room. Don’t be angry. _

The sound stopped. A moment of silence was followed with a door’s creak and paper rustling before someone slapped the door to Shuuichi’s apartment. A laugh vaguely resembling a horse crescendoed then diminished as another door closed.

Shuuichi stayed stunned at his couch. Who was that? What did they do to his door? Were they gone? Should he open the door? 

Ah, fuck it.

Shuuichi set his trumpet on the couch and opened his door, only to be met with a dark, empty hall. That meant whoever had slammed on his door was either quick or lived near him. Judging by the door creaks and the following silence, it was most likely the latter.

But what was the point of that? He had stopped playing before the first creak. There was no reason to slam on his door like that.

Shuuichi turned around to close his door, only to see a purple sticky note stuck to the dark blue paint.

The note was written in neat, loopy handwriting with a few words underlined with red ink. It read,  _ Thanks for the tuning session!!! It’s too bad brasses are always out of tune :( Better luck next time, TRUMPET. _

Shuuichi could practically feel the sarcasm dripping from the note, as well as the fury pricking at his skin. Who the hell was this guy anyway? Who did they think they were? Strings were just as out-of-tune as brasses were. He grabbed a pencil off his music stand and scribbled a few words of his own on the sticky note. After checking his note for spelling and grammar errors, he stuck it on his neighbor’s door and knocked twice before retreating back to his room.

Ten seconds passed before another note was stuck to his door.  _ YOU WAGED WAR ON THE WRONG PERSON, BITCH. _

It seemed like an overreaction to a note comparing violins to violas, but he supposed he had pushed his neighbor beyond the breaking point. Writing another note passing off his anger as an overreaction didn’t seem smart.

Sleep deprivation burned at the back of Shuuichi’s eyes, but the anger kept the rush of adrenaline pumping through his veins. It was the most excitement he had felt in years.

And if he bought a pack of five hundred light blue sticky notes at four in the morning, maybe he was just as much of an asshole as his neighbor.

 

*

 

The first battle began at midnight with the opening notes to Beethoven’s Coriolan Overture. Shuuichi has to compliment his neighbor’s style; it added a dramatic flair to an already petty battle. He didn’t usually like being petty, but he couldn’t help but enjoy the rush of adrenaline from his first battle.

Shuuichi brought his trumpet to his mouth but paused. Was this a good idea? Would this result in any benefits for him? Who was he even fighting against?

All his doubts were washed away when his neighbor switched to “All Star,” and he knew this malicious force had to be eliminated.

So Shuuichi took a deep breath and blared an equally dramatic opening to  _ Jupiter _ from Holst’s Planet Suites.

But his neighbor didn’t back down. Instead of being intimidated by the trumpet’s volume like he expected, the violinist played another movement in the same piece Shuuichi was playing.

Shuuichi narrowed his eyes.  _ It’s fucking on. _

The two switched from piece to piece for hours before the ache in Shuuichi’s lips and arms were too much to handle. He set his trumpet down and scribbled a message on a sticky note before leaving to stick it on his neighbor’s door. After waiting on his couch for a few minutes, a response finally came.

_ How do you stop your flute from getting stolen? Put it in a trumpet case. I win this round! _

Shuuichi slammed his door shut and tore the sticky note apart. Frustration boiled in his gut, but the note left him puzzled. Who would steal an entire flute? Maki had complained about someone stealing her reeds, but he had never heard of someone taking an entire instrument. He wrote another message asking for clarification and waited.

The response was stuck onto his door within a few minutes.  _ Someone stole my entire case once!!! Luckily I used my super secret violin skills to get it back.  _ An arrow followed the words.

Shuuichi flipped the sticky note over.

_ Just kidding! That was a lie. But could you imagine? _

The previous sympathy Shuuichi felt for his neighbor was washed away and replaced with, strangely enough, amusement. Laughter rumbled in his throat as he pointed out no skills with violin would have aided his neighbor in catching a thief on another sticking note and stuck it on his neighbor’s door.

The next sticky note had a crude drawing of a man dressed in a suit and cape winking and holding up a peace sign.  _ Nishishi! You’ve got it! I was the thief in that story.  _ Another arrow followed it.

Shuuichi flipped the sticky note over.

_ Another lie! I would  _ **_never_ ** _ steal anything. Or maybe that was a lie? _

Shuuichi has no reason to trust his neighbor, nor did he have a reason to distrust him other than his ridiculous practice times. The conundrum was too confusing to solve at four in the morning, so he climbed into bed and left it for another day.

 

*

 

A few days later, his sleep was again interrupted by the opening to Bruch’s violin concerto in G minor, starting with a much-too-loud G played on the violin’s open string. Though he had to admit his neighbor had good tone… and great intonation… and a unique style—

No. He had to win.

Shuuichi assembled his trumpet and brought the mouthpiece to his lips before buzzing the most obnoxious note he could ever think of: the G right above the music staff. It was difficult to achieve without warming up first, but more than a decade of practice had allowed him to reach the note within a few seconds.

The two notes battled against each other before the violinist suddenly went quiet. Footsteps neared Shuuichi’s door before diminishing and being followed by the click of the door.

Shuuichi waited until he was sure there were no footsteps. He set his trumpet down and opened his door, grabbing the sticky note off the front and shutting the door. He found himself smiling as he read the note.

_ Okay… you win this round. That high G is sooo annoying. Like, more annoying than my high Gs, and those are pretty annoying. Bravo, neighbor. Your instrument is annoying. _

Shuuichi scribbled a quick message about violin squeaks being more annoying than a trumpet ever could before sticking it on his neighbor’s door and leaving to empty his spit valve into the sink. By the time he had finished cleaning his trumpet, his neighbor had responded.

_ You know what? You’re completely right. Those squeaks are annoying. Trumpets are still pretty annoying though. _

He flipped the note over, but nothing was there. There was no sign of it being a lie.

Shuuichi stuck the note onto his bulletin board and went to sleep with more satisfaction than he should have felt.

 

*

 

The amount of fury that rushed through Shuuichi’s veins was probably disproportionate to his neighbor playing “Uptown Funk,” but that didn’t stop him from assembling his trumpet and playing the brass arrangement along with him.

The violin struggled to outplay the trumpet, and the trumpet took over the melody. His neighbor paused before switching to the accompaniment part.

It seemed his neighbor had an entire book of pop sheet music, as they spent the rest of the night switching from pop song to pop song, the violin playing the accompaniment with ease while Shuuichi fumbled with the rhythms to songs he could only vaguely remember. A few times, Shuuichi could swear he heard laughter during the pauses. The laughter sounded just as musical as the songs they played, but Shuuichi didn’t have much time to think about that as they switched to another song.

But now that Shuuichi was in bed with no sound to be heard besides the cars rushing past his apartment complex, there was no hope of escaping his thoughts.

Contrary to his first thoughts, his neighbor wasn’t a bad person. Over their time exchanging notes, Shuuichi learned more about his neighbor, like his sweet tooth and tendency to wear white clothes (His reasoning was something about not wanting to look like a crack dealer after rosining his bow, but Shuuichi suspected it was just his fashion sense). He learned about the various pranks his neighbor had pulled on the other residents of the apartment complex and how his exercise came in the form of running from people. The jokes his neighbor wrote, even though they poked fun at trumpets, never failed to make him laugh after a tough day. It was almost as if they were friends now.

And with that thought, Shuuichi drifted to sleep with a smile.

 

*

 

It was a month into their battle when Shuuichi’s sleep deprivation finally caught up to him like a wasp to a panicking runner. The moment he stepped back into his room from rehearsal, he set his trumpet down and crashed onto his bed. Fifteen hours passed before he woke up to someone banging on his door.

Shuuichi briefly considered investing in a pair of ear mufflers but decided he would need to do it in the future. He (reluctantly) rose from his bed and opened his door, only to see no trace of a life besides a light purple sticky note left on his door.

_ I didn’t hear you play yesterday. Are you okay? _

Once he got over the murderous rage of being woken up after fifteen straight hours of sleep, he found it in himself to smile at the concern behind the note. At least his neighbor wasn’t a complete asshole. He wrote back a note explaining what had happened and stuck it on their door.

The response was almost immediate.  _ Nishishi! Good morning, sleepyhead! Would you like to be woken up with some Bach? _

Bach didn’t sound too bad until the familiar screech of the E string penetrated the door, and Shuuichi realized they had picked the squeakiest Bach partita out of the three they could have chosen from. But it wasn’t unpleasant. Far from it.

Shuuichi hummed along to the music as he checked his email, the tension of having so many unchecked messages soothed by the violin’s notes.

 

*

 

After two months of battling each other, Shuuichi didn’t even feel the need to sleep anymore; it was just habit at this point to unpack his trumpet as soon as he got home and wait. He liked to think they had even become friends at some point, as Shuuichi’s sticky note stock was almost running out from the conversations about nothing they had (but if anybody asked about the bad pickup lines written on the sticky notes scattered around his room, he would deny all connection with them).

Shuuichi frowned when he came back home with a premature note on his door.

_ Hey, trumpet neighbor, I’m not in the mood today. _

He wrote a question asking if his neighbor wanted to talk about it and slid it under the door, only to get pale fingers pushing the note back without a word.

Huh. That was weird. Even though he had never seen the face of his neighbor, his music was enough of an indicator for their mood. Just a few weeks ago, the violinist would play Mozart almost constantly. Then something changed over the last few days. The violinist would play a couple lines of the scherzo from Mendelssohn’s  _ Midsummer Night’s Dream _ before suddenly stopping and replaying the line slowly. A few other excerpts joined it, including the violin solo from the first movement Rimsky-Korsakov's  _ Capriccio Espagñol _ . It was almost as if he were actually practicing for an audition.

Shuuichi assembled his trumpet but stopped when he picked up his mouthpiece. He stared down at it, turning it over in his fingers and watching the light reflect off the shiny metal.

Buzzing. He could vaguely remember in high school when he was in a full orchestra for the first time, and the conductor asked the brasses to buzz their part. Giggles rose among the brasses before they let out a noise resembling a cheap, plastic kazoo. Both the strings and winds jumped, not expecting the noise to come from the brasses. Nevertheless, everyone had laughed.

So Shuuichi put the mouthpiece to his lips and buzzed.

The results were immediate, a loud “What the fuck?” followed with a burst of hysterical laughter. A loud crash came from the other room, but the laughter didn’t stop.

Shuuichi smiled at the laughter and fought back his own giggles as he continued buzzing the mouthpiece.

His heart lifted as the laughter grew louder. Something slammed on his door before the laughter decrescendoed into a giggle. Another door clicked shut.

Shuuichi set his mouthpiece down to retrieve the note.

_ Thanks. _

And if anyone asked later, Shuuichi would deny sticking it to his music stand and smiling every time he would move his sheet music to catch a glimpse of it.

 

*

 

As much as Kaito liked to call their hangouts in the cafe down the street of the apartment their local brass meetings, it was far from the truth. For one, Kaede and Maki usually joined them and were informed when these meetings would take place. Other brass musicians in their apartment complex weren’t invited, and this might have been the only time they actually discussed music together.

“Did you hear about the audition excerpts from Hope’s Peak Symphony Orchestra?” Shuuichi asked, holding a cup of coffee in his hands.

Kaito shot the rest of his drink down his throat before answering. “Yeah, the principal trombone part is… not good. It’s a bunch of random things I haven’t seen before, and the competition down here’s brutal.”

“Are you still going for principal trombone?”

“Hell yeah, I am! A hero never backs down from a challenge! Although, uh…” Kaito scratched the back of his head. “We gotta talk about your sleep schedule.”

Shuuichi’s blood went cold. There was no way someone on the second floor should have been able to hear his trumpet, nor was there anyone on the ninth floor to tell him. “What do you mean?”

“Maki Roll and Kaede and I’ve noticed you kind of… nodding off during our conversations, I guess? You keep yawning a lot and have been drinking way too much coffee to be healthy, so we were worried about your sleep.”

Oh. So that’s what it was. Shuuichi shrugged. “I guess I haven’t been getting as much sleep as usual, but it’s fine. My nights have been pretty fun.”

“What happened to that asshole that’s been keeping you up?” Kaito asked, leaning back in his chair.

Despite his efforts to restrain it, Shuuichi couldn’t help the smile that danced on his lips. “I took your advice and played over the violin. We started exchanging notes. I think we’re friends now.”

“Really? Who is this guy?”

With that, Shuuchi released the floodgates of information he had been holding back, his hands moving in time with his words as he described both his neighbor’s ability and personality. His face felt warm as he described him, and his heart felt a bit lighter.

Kaito stared at him, his eyes wide. Then they narrowed, and he leaned forward. “Shuuichi. Bro. Do you have a crush on this dude?”

Shuuichi’s heart leaped to his throat. “W-What? No! I’ve never even met the guy!”

“I don’t know. You sound like how I was when I first met Maki Roll. Remember that?”

“Who wouldn’t?” Shuuichi mumbled. The memory of his best friend turning into a lovesick puppy for a week would never leave him. “I don’t sound like that. I’m just… No, I don’t sound like that.”

“Alright, whatever you say,” Kaito said, “Anyway, I think you should be getting more sleep, especially with HPSO auditions coming up.”

Oh, right. Audition season was right around the corner. Shuuichi had been preparing his excerpts and solos for next month, though he heard rumors of string players taking their auditions a week earlier than them.

“Don’t worry, I will,” Shuuichi said, taking a sip from his coffee. “Anyway, do you know which excerpts the violins are playing?”

“Why the hell would I know that?”

Shuuichi only shrugged.

Kaito squinted his eyes at him before leaning back in his seat. “I think they’re playing  _ Midsummer Night’s Dream _ and a few other excerpts I don’t care about. Anyone going for concertmaster has to play the solo from  _ Capriccio Espagñol _ . Last time I heard, everyone has to play a solo of their choice. Why?”

“No reason.”

It was only when Shuuichi was walking to his room when Kaito’s words truly hit him, and he turned to face his neighbor’s door.

_ Shit. I have a crush. _

 

*

 

_ Are you auditioning for HPSO? The excerpts sound familiar. _

That was what Shuuichi had written and rewritten on multiple sticky notes before deciding it was best to be straightforward and slipping it under his neighbor’s door. Before he could kick himself too much and write an apology note, he received a response.

_ Uh, no? Where did you get that idea? _

Shuuichi almost rolled his eyes as he turned the note over.

_ Nishishi! Just kidding! Yeah, I’m auditioning for HPSO. What’s it to you, trumpet? Shouldn’t you be emptying spit valves on the floor and laughing as everyone walks into it? _

The visual was disgusting, and Shuuichi didn’t want to think about it too much. He responded by admitting he was auditioning as well before slipping it under the door again.

The sound of pencil scratching quickly on paper was impossible to ignore. The response came within a few seconds. 

_ Really??? Well, I hope to see you there, trumpet neighbor ;) _

Shuuichi couldn’t help but smile as he wrote down a thanks and sent it back. He stood up and walked back to his room without waiting for a response, thinking about just what that winky face meant.

 

*

 

The moment he stood on the stage dedicated to Hope’s Peak Symphony Orchestra with a handful of other musicians, Shuuichi knew his hard work had paid off.

The hall everything a musician could have hoped for: amazing acoustics, plenty of seats in the audience, a spacious stage. To be the principal trumpet of one of the world’s best orchestras was an honor he didn’t know he deserved.

Nevertheless, he sat down in the trumpet section, smiling at the trombone and bassoon sections in front of him. Having both Maki and Kaito in front of him would be entertaining. He flipped through the black folder on his stand, taking note of the music and any solos that would be forced onto him, before a violinist’s sound pierced the stage.

The violinist played the solo to Marquez’s  _ Danzon Number Two _ . The tone was smooth and the melody melancholy. There wasn’t too much vibrato decorating the notes, nor was there too little. Every note was perfectly pitched. It would have sounded like any other basic recording, but the style was too unique to—

Wait.

Shuuichi looked up from his music to look at the man sitting in the concertmaster spot. The man had wild purple hair and sparkling purple eyes to match. The chinrest of his violin was covered with a black and white checkered cloth, matching the white uniform he wore. By the time Shuuichi’s eyes had reached the man’s smile, he knew he was completely and utterly fucked.

Shuuichi swallowed and took in a deep breath before approaching the man, his shoes clicking on the wooden floor of the stage.

The man set his violin down and tilted his head to face Shuuichi with the cutest smile he had ever seen. “Yes? What do you want from the principal percussionist?”

Shuuichi’s heart stopped. “Wait, principal percu—”

“Nishishi! That was just a lie, though. I’m a liar, you know,” the man said, folding one arm behind his head as he held his violin with his other hand. “What does the principal trumpet need from me?”

“I-I just… um…” Shuuichi took a deep breath. The hand holding his trumpet fell to his side, and he ran his fingers through his hair. “Y-You wouldn’t happen to have a noisy trumpet neighbor you started a war with on the tenth floor, would you?”

The smile on the man’s face faltered. He blinked. “So you’re the person I’ve been at war with for the past twenty years?”

“It’s only been five months, but—”

“I can’t believe it! My neighbor is sooo cute!”

That was it. Shuuichi could feel the heat rushing to his face as he scrambled to keep his trumpet from slipping out of his hands. “W-What?”

The man beamed at him and leaned back with bright eyes. “Ah, but was that just a lie? You never know with someone like me.”

Shuuichi took a deep breath and held a hand to his chest, certain that everyone within a ten mile radius could hear his heartbeat skyrocketing. “Maybe, but… I would like to find out…?”

“... That was the worst pickup line I’ve ever heard.”

“It wasn’t a pickup line!”

“Here, I’ll give you a good one. Are you a fermata? Because I want to hold you.”

Shuuichi paused. He had to admit that it was better than his supposed pickup line, but that didn’t mean he was about to lose another battle to a person he had lost to over the period of five months. So he decided he had nothing to lose and pushed his hesitation away. “Would you like to borrow my tuner? You’re looking pretty sharp today.”

To his delight, the man’s face turned the slightest bit pink, and he laughed. “Nice one, but—”

“You must be marked prestissimo, because you’re dashing.”

“That makes no—”

“Enough exposition. Can we move this to the development section?”

By the time he had said his last pickup line, the man’s face was bright red. The sight was addicting. Shuuichi wanted to keep flustering him, to keep revealing the faces that had been hidden from him all this time. But still, he had run out of pickup lines, and he wasn’t able to think of any without consulting the internet.

“Jeez, you brasses and your suggestiveness,” the man grumbled, trying and failing to cover his face with the scroll of his violin. “Fine, you win. I  _ guess _ I can go on a date with you.”

Shuuichi raised an eyebrow at the disparity between his words and the excitement lacing his voice but decided not to say anything about it.

The man held his hand out. “I’m Kokichi Ouma, concertmaster and neighbor that terrorized you for five months.”

Shuuichi smiled and shook his hand. “I’m Shuuichi Saihara, principal trumpet and neighbor that also terrorized you for five months. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Right after their handshake, the clock hit ten AM, prompting the other musicians to flood to their seats. Shuuichi waved and said a goodbye before he left, almost missing the wink and smile Kokichi sent back to him.

And if Shuuichi got so distracted he almost missed his entrance multiple times during the first hour of rehearsal and Kokichi didn’t say anything about it, he wouldn’t bring up Kokichi nearly missing his solo and being scolded by the conductor either.

**Author's Note:**

> i tried to link everyone to the pieces but it wouldnt work fuck i hate this
> 
> principal chairs: the best players of the section
> 
> concertmaster: best player of the first violin section (and usually the second violin section too)
> 
> reed-stealing: yeah apparently this happens in band. my friend plays saxophone and she came into class one day bitching about how someone stole her reeds and how she had to lock them up so uh
> 
> violin to viola comparison: mostly a joke but we dont like being compared to each other in my experience
> 
> auditions: auditions make me sad (and it's audition season right now. great)
> 
> fun fact: ive played most of the things on here (danzon no. 2 is my personal favorite). another fun fact: shuuichi can be headcanoned as any fucking instrument and it would work like ive considered cello!saihara and clarinet!saihara and so much more but the trumpet jokes were too good to pass up. also dont do any of the shit these losers do in a professional setting youll get fired. let me know if you have any questions!


End file.
